


inheritance

by jesuisdeux



Category: Star Wars (Marvel Comics), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Absurd, Attempt at Humor, Comedy, Count Obi-wan???, Crack, Crack Treated VERY Seriously, Crack and Angst, Desert, Douglas Adams, Experimental Style, Gen, Grandparent Dooku (Star Wars), Grandparents & Grandchildren, Inheritance, Light Angst, My writing gets better, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Break, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi is so Done, Obi-Wan Kenobi on Tatooine, Obi-Wan's Infinite Sadness But Make It Capitalist, Planet Tatooine (Star Wars), Self-Exile, Style humour, because tatooine, dooku leaves obi-wan his assets, franz kafka - Freeform, i guess, its okay you can laugh its funny, just a bit, legal procedures are funny, no there is democracy, or - Freeform, original bureaucrat character - Freeform, tea consumption, thats it thats the fic, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 20:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30044361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesuisdeux/pseuds/jesuisdeux
Summary: Obi-wan lowers his tea cup. “I do not have any predecessor. There is an error.”“I do not think so,” the officer turns over a page and gestures a line. “Count Dooku of Serenno.”Obi-wan thinks that the Force is very merciful for he wasn't drinking tea at the moment of this... atrocious revelation. Otherwise he would be choking right now, this much is presumable.What a way to go.orDooku leaves everything to Obi-wan, a bank clerk finds Obi-wan on Tatooine. It complicates things.(One day, a bureaucrat walks into Master Kenobi's house. He says, Count Dooku bequeathed his asset to you.That's it, that's the joke.)
Relationships: Dooku & Obi-Wan Kenobi, not present in the fic tho
Comments: 28
Kudos: 104





	inheritance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winter_sunshine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_sunshine/gifts).



> winter_sunshine left the comment:
>
>>   
> this suddenly made me think of "what if dooku left a trust fund for obi-wan if he ever died? what if obi-wan decided fuck the slavers and took over tatooine (while peacefully coexisting with the tuskens ofc)? what if obi-wan took over serenno? took over mandalore?"
>>
>>> and of course i wrote it. thank you for the idea, i enjoyed writing it!
>>> 
>>> you see, inherent ridiculousness of bureaucracy✨ makes a crack fic i took too seriously

Obi-wan Kenobi wakes up to a knock in his door.

In any situation, it is a terrible way to start a story. Cliché, it builds up no suspense, creates no conflict. It is boring. Every day, there are thousands of knocks on thousands of doors. Think of Coruscant—all the rich and poor doors being knocked. It is ordinary.

In any situation but this one.

There is nothing boring about a knock in his door, not while he is on Tatooine, not after the betrayal, not after the catastrophe.

Knock knock.

It is nothing ordinary as he lives in the middle of nowhere, widely presumed dead, an old war hero, a brand-new traitor.

Knock knock.

It is, essentially, the old horror story: _The last man on earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock on the door._

There are many possibilities about who might be knocking Obi-wan's door, each of them a horror story alone.

Knock knock.

But Obi-wan is a busy man. Coping with isolation is a very serious job, and he has a very full day: Lightsaber katas, knitting, meditation, sudoku, experimenting with time and space, sleeping, visiting banthas, meditation, sleeping, some reading, playing dejarik against himself—

No, no, not the last one. Since he remembered the short story _Dejarik_ , he stopped playing by himself. He was getting obsessed about winning and he was playing it in his dreams.

He shudders while remembering the holobook.

Literature is a horrifyingly beautiful thing he didn't have much time during the war.

Now he has a world of time. Too much, in fact.

Knock knock.

Obi-wan turns in his bed. His bed which most days he doesn't even leave.

Eh, coping to a certain extent.

Knock knock, this time angry and hastier.

Obi-wan frowns. He covers his ears with his pillow.

Knock knock.

He is a busy man, and he forgot to count writing a journal at the first list he had made. Lightsaber katas, knitting, meditation, sudoku, experimenting with time and space, sleeping, visiting banthas, meditation, sleeping, some reading, and writing his journal. Yes, now it is complete.

He sits up, swinging his legs from the bed.

He doesn't hear any other knocks. And in his experience, it is no good sign.

He stands up, briefly tidies himself, creases of his robe, knots in his beard which he doesn't care anymore—

Knock knock.

Good. It means the visitor hadn't decided to seek local authorities yet. Or a battering ram to break the door.

He slowly pulls the piece of wood excuse for a door—to see a man of middle height, tapping his foot at the dusty ground sill, completely average, dressed formally, clearly anxious.

Before he can greet him properly, the intruder starts: “Mister Kenobi?”

Ah, the universe has a really twisted kind of humour, doesn't it? How the word mister sounds like master, a bombardment of memories, as if he was allowed to be a master. To be a Jedi.

No. This was taken from him too.

“Ben Kenobi.” he nods. “How can I help you?”

The man smiles at his name in a sinister way, but doesn't react otherwise. “I am coming from InterGalactic Banking Clan.”

Obi-wan involuntarily takes a step back, and in the blink of an eye, he is already preforming a Soresu stance: his hand reaches to his belt, knees bended a bit, still perfect after all this time, ready to deflect, ready to parry.

Man in front of him watches him with a moment of surprise, but otherwise, he still looks like the average civil servant. He only tightens his necktie, as if it is the most terrifying weapon in his hand. Perhaps it is. He clearly doesn't have a red lightsaber, a blaster of a droid, or any other weapon Obi-wan would suspect.

No. A simple office holder.

Obi-wan huffs at his own idiocy and reluctantly, lets himself to ease. Old habits...

“I see.” he nods again, not understanding the slightest. The financer of enemy forces in a war which he has been to. A war which he is a veteran of. A representative of that construction—in his door.

_How curious._

It was a horror story in the beginning, wasn't it? When did he find himself in the middle of a humoristic anecdote?

_One day, a bureaucrat walks into Master Kenobi's house._

“I am here to consult you upon an inheritance on your name, sir.”

_Says the bureaucrat_ , Obi-wan thinks. “Ah,” he lets out only, frown deepening. He cannot inherit anything. It is against everything inheritance is. Its nature is functioning through family line, isn't it?

He doesn't have that. A family.

Not since he found the younglings on the floor of—

But he will not think about it right now. He sighs at the obvious fallacy, “I see.” politely murmurs. “There must be a mistake—”

The officer's face turns lethal. “It is not, Mister Kenobi.”

If it is a prank of the locals, Obi-wan will be sad. He will really take offence. He knows they see him as a funny outsider, but still, he wouldn't expect this kind of rudeness.

His hand reaches for the knock handle to close that matter forever and to turn back to his life and to his tasks with upmost importance. “Really, I do not have time to—”

But officer puts a hand on the door, not aggressively but desperately, raises a flimsi, a warrant—something it has Obi-wan's name on it. It is not calling it quits, not at all.

“You must have. Please let me explain.”

Not Ben. The flimsi says Obi-wan. That explains the sinister smile. His lie was busted from the beginning. A bit disturbing. And also, it is... interesting to see that name again on a legal document.

“How do you know my name?” he asks, unfortunately more petulant than intended. But the image of a blond infant flashed in his mind, and with the aroused protection instinct, he cannot be blamed.

“Complicated.” is the only answer. “I cannot explain in here,” the man says and innocently stares at him—a loth-cat desperately wanting to be let in.

Obi-wan examines the man for a while. And looks around the hut.

“Would you like to come in?” he finally asks, resigned. Because after all, kindness never hurts.

No, such a stupid saying it is. Kindness always hurts. Not that Obi-wan would leave it just because so. He would be a good host.

“I thought you were never going to ask,” the man rushes inside, leaving Obi-wan gaping behind him.

Well, Tatooine's suns has that effect.

He closes the door and follows the bank official with confusion.

A few minutes later, he is drinking tea and listening to a man upon subjects he doesn't even care. He only feels a bit bad about the state of the hut, he could never imagine hosting bank officers when he first came here. With a baby in his arms, with the end of the war on his shoulders.

Still, that will have to do. And man seems not to care about the raggedy room while narrating... something. Rather enthusiastically.

“—and when I said that, they laughed at me! It is essentially wrong to leave the company this unchecked! Too autonomous, if you ask me, and it needs an inspection mechanism. Self-governing, yes, yes but I think law is too ambiguous. Empire seems to be in need of a legal expert, if you ask me.”

Obi-wan only nods with furrowed brows, and refreshes his guest's tea.

He doesn't care at all about the domestic affairs of banking clans, no, not at all—especially at this point of his life. Not to mention he has no idea why the man is talking to him about that, or how he knows his name. Or how he found him. Or what is the inheritance matter. It is weird and quite funny for him to find Obi-wan, of all people, on Tatooine, just to make him listen about his workplace environment.

But also, he cannot bring himself to interrupt, because, with a shame, he feels like he is in a negotiation table once again.

Such a bittersweet feeling. Such a weird pleasure.

After a long, long time someone is talking to him. A stimulation, basic human interaction, something... something very _cool._

And, well, the officer is too frantic and excited about the Clan's policies and Obi-wan literally cannot cut in.

So, at the officer's third cup, first two of them running cold and untouched, when he finally shuts up for a sip of his tea, Obi-wan clears his throat.

“Officer,” he starts, “you said there was a matter of inheritance, if I remember correctly.”

“Ah!” the officer realizes the situation. Finally remembers his reason to be here. “Yes, definitely!” he puts his cup down and turns to his briefcase with alarm, hands coming up with a ton of flimsi. He starts flipping the pages aggressively.

“You, Mister Kenobi, are a very extraordinary case.” he says, finally settling on a specific page.

Not a traditional way to start out a conversation on inheritance.

“There were many... complications. About the assets, about you, about my colleagues— But here we are! To cut short, you have inherited—uh, that amount,” he holds out his hand to show a certain line on the flimsi.

A number.

Obi-wan is not illiterate. Still, reading the number hurts his eyes, the streak of digits is...

Excessively long. Very very long.

“Taxes and debts already deducted.” the man adds.

Obi-wan's eyebrows raise, but he composes himself. “I'm sorry— I will repeat that I am under the impression you have made a mistake.”

“There is no mistake. It is for you; it is your name!”

“Very good point. As I asked you and you didn't answer me before—How exactly do you know my name?”

“What?” the man asks with puzzlement. Meeting with silence, he actually ponders the answer to the question. “The files given to us already contained your name. Not like names are confidential info. How can you inherit anything otherwise?” he laughs nervously. “Silly,” he says under his breath.

Names are confidential in many cases. But Obi-wan only shakes his head. It is always him, isn't it? In the most absurd situation?

“Very well. Then how did you find me at all?” he asks this time, sipping his tea and actually fearing the answer.

“Now this is even more redundant of a question,” the man evades and also sips his tea.

But only meets a steady gaze and an insistent “Officer?”.

Officer shrugs anxiously. “Well, we encounter many cases of payers. Debts and liabilities. You would be surprised if you know how many of them decided to live in a different system all of a sudden!”

Ah.

That actually makes sense. Of course. And why would he expect a bank to be bad at finding people? It is part of the job, Obi-wan thinks. A very important part.

“Still,” he says, lowering his cup, “I do not have any predecessor. There is an error.”

“I do not think so,” the officer tamely smiles, turning over another page and once again gesturing another line. “Count Dooku of Serenno.”

Obi-wan thinks that the Force is very merciful for he wasn't drinking tea at the moment of this... atrocious revelation. Otherwise he would be choking right now, this much is presumable.

What a way to go.

_One day, a bureaucrat walks into Master Kenobi's house. He says, Count Dooku bequeathed his asset to you._

Quite ridiculous, actually. Enough of a material to entertain him on his days in this desert.

“Officer, I appreciate your sense of humour, but I don't believe you.”

“Here lies the evidence!” man gestures the flimsies heatedly. “I knew this would be a difficult case but never before did anyone rejected this amount of—”

“No,” Obi-wan cuts in. Officer acts unnecessarily serious. Which he doesn’t like at all. It is a stupid joke, it must be. “He— no, he wouldn't— And I—” he groans. It is not just ridiculous, he knows. It is impossible. He desperately wants to detach himself from the situation…

…So he advises the legal solution. The obvious one. “And,” starting pleasantly, “he couldn't,” he triumphantly announces. “I am not heir, not even close, he should have other descendant. I don't know, maybe—”

“He does not.” the officer easily refuses. As easy as Djem So evading blaster bolt. “Mother and father, long gone. No spouse. Brother deceased, sister deceased. There is no one. And you count as heir.”

“I do not—”

“Abolished institution but, yes, you count. Pahdawan? Padawan?”

No. Oh no. This man cannot possibly know he is a Jedi and—

“Or something like that. Ah, look, here it is: Grandpadawan.” he once again flips through pages, then yanks it to Obi-wan's nose. Obi-wan stares down at the flimsi, annoyance written in his features. Annoyance and actually, fear. This man knows who he is, yet he is consistent and caring about Dooku's legacy, not his status of being a traitor to the Empire.

For a second the doubt of this being a joke comes back, but more dangerous than a mere prank of locals. Perhaps it is the twisted sense of humour of Sidious, or... or someone else Obi-wan doesn't want to think about at the moment.

They are twisting his memory of Jedi with Dooku, and perhaps, seconds later, a squad of troopers will break into the hut. His hand slips to his saber. But nothing happens.

_Abolished institution_. A persecuting wording for Obi-wan.

Genocide is something very different, is it not?

Do they not teach how to distinguish this two at the banking officer schools or whatever these days?

“So I imagine it is a title resembling with a grandchild? You are a grandson?” the man questions and takes him out of his thoughts. “A granddaughter? A grandkid?”

“I doubt I even count as grandpadawan—”

“You count, there are docum—”

“But it is ridiculous—”

“You,” officer interrupts him with a finality, finality of law, actually, “have kinship with him, don't you?”

There is nothing more terrifying than a bureaucrat with the clear evident of flimsi in hand.

“I... I guess?” Obi-wan says, finally, folding his arms and shrugging. He raised the man who killed him, but he doubts it counts.

The man he raised kills so many people these days, that's why Obi-wan doesn't watch HoloNews anymore. It doesn't mean kinship with all the victims.

He doesn't even have kinship with the man he raised.

Not anymore.

“So you are wrong, Mister Kenobi. And besides, it is not a matter of being lawful heir. You are not an intestate successor. Please never become a legal advisor.”

Obi-wan curls his lips. As if it is his intention. Whose intention it even is at all?

“What do you mean?”

“You are an appointed legatee. Testamentary successor, you know. He clearly specified his inheritor as you in his will, it is not just the natural flow of the events.”

“No—”

“Yes. Here it is, signed in Serenno, from 25 standard months before, actually. Some documents were absent but… his will is clear.”

It makes Obi-wan only gape, because the war was continuing at its full blast and Dooku sat down to think over what would happen to his wealth when he died.

And his answer was Obi-wan.

It is funny, beyond funny—

The will Obi-wan reads upon officer’s force is simple, a long list of all the assets, and finally, simply, it is said, “I bequeath all to Jedi Master Obi-wan Kenobi.”

“You see, I said it’s a compelling case because it is, honestly... complicated.” the officer says, loosening his tie.

“The date of the will shows a time with two different government... kind of. Right now, none of them exist and we are not very sure—about anything. It speaks of a kinship through the agency of an abolished structure, called Jedi. It is near impossible to reach a record of them ever existing, but I have a good network. And abolished or not, Dooku’s resignation of the order complicates things. But Count still seems to be sure that it would reach to you anyway, so some appointment testimonials are lacking. We are not sure whether treat the Republic and Separatist government as equals, and we don't know which constitution to ground on. We are not sure if we should carry out laws retroactively. And, well, you, Mister, are a criminal, which also makes things... harder.”

Obi-wan rubs his temples, only imagining the paperwork makes his head ache. But the last part makes his head ache even more, as, being an outlaw is actually a life quite hard to maintain.

“And what will you do about it? Me, being a criminal, I mean.” Obi-wan asks, his voice grave. The poor man doesn't stand a chance against him, but if he is clever, then he is not alone. What kind of a mission awaits Obi-wan to protect Luke? He takes a glance at the windows—there is still nothing. Yet. He can probably fetch Luke and runaway in time, without “reinforcements” coming—

“I am offended, sir. You didn't listen to me!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I wasn't prating about the internal affairs of the Clan to little purpose.” the officer looks resentful. “But to sketch out, they do not care. Normally, offending the legator is enough to disinherit. I am sure you offended him at least once by being a general against his forces. Or to be a criminal, loosely, is also enough to disinherit. But then again, Imperial law is too ambiguous, and the case is too complex, and Banking Clan is too untied. As long as we pay our taxes, there is nothing wrong. We can do anything! We can even claim criminals as client.”

Obi-wan lifts his brows. “They do not care?” he repeats with disbelief.

The officer only shakes his head. “They do not care.”

Obi-wan strokes his beard. Very interesting indeed. But... well, money. He is very sure criminals are almost always very rewarding clients. Of course nobody cares.

“Does the bank always struggle with such... troubled cases?”

“Normally? Well, not like that. Since the war, it is harder but... not like that. Actually, my colleagues said that Dooku probably did so because he didn't want his assets to be handed over the Republic directly. A way to ridicule them, even knowing you would renounce it and it would return to the Republic anyway. Instead of giving to them, he says, 'I prefer to give it to Kenobi, _even to Kenobi_.' You know, rich people have their quirks.”

It is the most stupid thing Obi-wan heard in a long time. Not that he _heard_ many things recently in this hut.

“But I said they were wrong. I told them he could have done other things with his assets to ridicule the government and anyway, it wouldn't return to the Republic, Separatist government would never because Banking Clan was directly tied to the Seps by the time.”

Officer shrugs, and drinks his tea with pride and joy. “One of them is a new intern, he wouldn't know it—whatever. And... I also couldn't break my undefeated streak with one simple case like that, so here I am. Experimenting with the law and making friends with criminals! Sorry that it took long enough to find you. But, you know, recent events, regime change and all that…”

“How wonderful of you,” Obi-wan says. He, despite the popular belief, apparently, doesn't like being called a criminal. And he is between amused and annoyed by the sheer innocent excitement the officer radiates.

Perhaps, after all, he is not lying.

He straightens. “But what if I denounce it? What happens then?”

“You keep accommodating in that hut,” man says with a hint of contempt. When Obi-wan rises his eyebrow, he gets down to business. “And the assets are resigned to the government. Probably before that someone misappropriates them but, uh, irrelevant.”

Handing it all to a greedy banker or Sidious... For what? For armies, perhaps, for weaponry, for destruction, for slaughtering rebels, for bringing planets to their heels.

For blood, and for tears.

Nausea.

“Is it all?” he asks, feeling the weight of all the credits in his shoulders, because he is not very sure what to say anymore.

“No, mister. You... actually, you also have the absolute right to rule Serenno.”

“I am sorry?” Obi-wan exclaims.

“Yes, since there are no rightful heirs except you.” the officer muses. “Because of the internal turmoil Empire assigned an administrator but personally I doubt it will fix the problem for long.”

“What?”

What was that word, used in Alderaan? Obi-wan doesn't like using foul language but—

“Obviously you cannot be recognised as a ruler legally, in the eyes of Empire. But,” the officer gives an arch smile, “the InterGalactic Banking Clan has a very wonderful policy about modification of identity.”

Serenno. A planet, a whole planet. Count Dooku’s home world, the main base of Separatist movement, oh Force…

In regards of using a foul language, it seems to be the best time. Ever, in his life. No opportunity like this will ever come.

“What happens if I do not reclaim the title?” he asks. He does not want to—

“I am not an expert, but… Probably, civil war?” officer guesses. “Authority gap is trouble. Probably, eventually, Empire stamping the planet out. If they become a big problem, I mean.”

Obi-wan stares. And stares. He doesn’t even know how to unpack all of that, how to unfold every detail. Perhaps he should have watched HoloNews, after all. Instead, he rubs his eyes, and asks a question. The less important one, he needs distraction, even momentarily.

“ _Modification_ —do you mean forgery?”

“No!” officer jumps at where he sits. “Not at all, I told you, law is ambiguous. And not just falsify of documents, also very adept performers and all. Very legal. At least mostly. So...” he fixes his gaze at Obi-wan. “Will you buy it? It's at affordable price—very affordable, to especially someone like you. I get a cut out of every policy I sell, so it would be very kind of you to buy it.”

“I do not have money!”

“Yes, you do!”

Yes, he does. It appears so. Opposition won't help. How easy it is to just burden all these responsibilities to his shoulder. Obi-wan sighs, exasperated. Perhaps Dooku hates him and has sworn an oath to make his life unbearable with paperwork. Yes, that seems reasonable. That man—dead, but still bane, still nuisance.

Only if he could renounce it all with a simple wave of his hands... But Atlas cannot merely shrug, can he? Not with all the consequences tied to him firmly. Filling Sidious’ pockets. Casting a planet off to disorder.

“If you think you are not good to manage it,” the officer starts, upon his silence, coughing to clear his throat, “I can also sell my consultancy. I mean—for budget management. Financial advisor, hm?”

His eyes shine with one thing: Money.

Credits, and their exchange through the pockets of sentients across the galaxy—something big, something terrifying, something...

Something Obi-wan never brought himself to care. He leans back in his chair, eyes faraway, lips thin.

After having nourishment and shelter, who really cared about the credits? Temple had everything he could desire.

Not that he has temple at the moment.

“What do you say? You surely won't renounce—”

“Deal,” Obi-wan says.

“What?”

The moment he had made his decision, it was also his own internal reaction. _What?_

“Deal. I accept the inheritance. I hire you. And I purchase the identity modification policy.”

“Really?” officer’s eyes go wide. “Oh! Excellent choice, sir. Thank you for choosing InterGalactic Banking Clan. How would you like to pay?”

_How to pay?_ Ah. Such a foreign question.

“I don't know, just… withdraw cash?”

“Of course. We can use Clan's ship for transportation.” Officer rises up, turning to the door. “I will arrange all the necessary formalities. We can depart for Serenno even right now.”

But Obi-wan doesn’t move. He merely drinks another sip of his tea. He smiles innocently.

“No, I will not leave here.”

Officer furrows his brows. “But—”

“I will not leave Tatooine.” Obi-wan firmly states, smile fading. Not in a million years. Of course he will not abandon Luke, he would never do that, not while alive. It is not a part of the plan. Never will be. “I can surely stay here,” he says. “All I need is a commlink. Right?”

Officer looks at him stupidly for a while.

“Rich people have their quirks.” Obi-wan shrugs mischievously.

At this, officer knowingly nods. “Very well,” he says, and sits down back in a surrendered manner. “It also can be arranged, I guess. But it would be, uh, as you may presume, difficult to rule a planet remotely. Even with the counterfeit heir we will adjust.”

“I know.”

He will still do it. Not that he has any chance other than that. He cannot go to Serenno, so Serenno will come to him. Anyhow virtually. Dooku can turn in his grave. Not that he has one.

“Then,” officer starts awkwardly. “Is there anything else?”

“Like what?” Obi-wan creases his face with confusion.

“Any other requests?”

“Ah,” Obi-wan says. He hired him, right? He will need to get used to it. Having a person around, perhaps. Having credits in a bank account. Actually, having a bank account at all. _Any requests…_ Oh, he has lots of them, in the last few hours he took so many headaches on his back, after all. So much trouble, so much knot to unriddle.

The plan. Yes, that would do.

“Actually, a list of reliable charity organisations would be wonderful.”

He will use all of the assets while he is alive, that much is clear. _How_ he is going to use, well, that much is fairly clear, too. Only question remaining is _where to_.

“What, exactly, is _reliable_ , sir?”

Obi-wan considers this. “No ties to Sheev Palpatine, if possible. No defraudation. No malpractice.”

“We are looking for a needle in a haystack,” the officer warns.

“I know.”

“Luckily I have an extensive network,” then the officer only tilts his head, noting down something already, tolerantly taking his datapad out. “Anything else?”

“And… Law-making experts who would be willing to work with us.” Obi-wan says. Serenno is inadmissibly feudal. It is the time to change that, isn’t it? And peacefully putting out the insurrection. Tranquilly transitioning oligarchy to a democracy. After all, they won’t have any counts or countesses anymore. Such delicate process. And Obi-wan has all the time and money, has he not? “Sociologists. Constitution specialists. Community engineers.”

“Community being Serennian people, I imagine,” officer hums. “You seem to have a very full agenda.”

Yes, he has, since he has also a very full pocket. Well, figuratively, _pocket._

“All credits, all agenda,” he says with a pretended sorrow, “and I do not have a commlink.”

“Alright, mister Kenobi,” officer laughs. “I will get you your commlink. Until then, you can use mine—just because you are very decent for a criminal.”

“Thank you,” Obi-wan reaches to the commlink, “I am always said that I have a charm.”

“Until next time, in that case.” officer rises to his feet. “I will open the account and make out the invoice. Will be back in two workdays.”

“Until next time,” Obi-wan also rises and extends a hand to shake.

A negotiation, after all. A handshake. A reconciliation. Perhaps his negotiating skills are not so rusty as he thought. A negotiation. Something Obi-wan missed but never expected at all. Not while he is on Tatooine, not after the betrayal, not after the catastrophe, at least. But here he is, reluctant prodigal. He got out of his bed as penniless but will get in as an obstinate reformer from afar.

And a story. A horror story at first, a ridiculous anecdote then. Perhaps a to-be adventure story in the end. One he can tell Luke and Leia, one day. So he turns back to his very important tasks as the officer leaves—writing his journal.

Perhaps he can go to town—to buy some ink and flimsi, to run an eye over HoloNews and to see Luke.

In any situation, it is a hopeful way to end a story.

Obi-wan Kenobi stands up to open his door.

**Author's Note:**

> yes, empire seems to work with a late vulture capitalism, as they are leaving banks at this much liberty, i guess. i like making up things. yes, i made too much research for this ridiculous fic, i know. i shouldn't have learn about inheritance process in america this much. i am not even american. and i took it too seriously that i even made a stefan zweig reference, yes, i know.
> 
> i offer my condolences to every worker in the empire who had to deal with this kind of paperwork.
> 
> i am still laughing at original bureaucrat character ahahashskds who am i kidding i laughed through whole fic
> 
> thank you for reading!
> 
> EDIT: I FORGOT TO MAKE A KNOCK KNOCK JOKE HOW I COULD FORGET THAT
> 
> KNOCK KNOCK
> 
> OBI-WAN: WHO IS THERE
> 
> A BANKING CLAN OFFIC--
> 
> OBI-WAN: UGGHH NOT AGAIN
> 
> now i have eternal peace...


End file.
